The Cliche Games: A Truly Awful SYOT
by Dinosaur-of-Fabulousness
Summary: We've all read bad SYOTs, and cringed at their awful tributes. But this story isn't one of those. Oh no. It's so much worse. SYOT closed, but the fun is just starting.
1. Prologue

_**AN: If you're lazy, feel free to skip to the end of the chapter. The important stuff's there.**_

* * *

Jenny Notaromanname bit her nails nervously. She nervously chewed on a lock of nervous hair. She shifted in her seat.

"I'm nervous," she announced, just in case the reader hadn't picked that up yet.

"Is this bitch for real?" an Avox whispered.

His partner shrugged.

"Hey, Avox?" Jenny asked. "Can you get me some calming lavender tea?"

"Nope," the Avox said. "I'm on break. Later."

Jenny sighed nervously. She was terrified. She had to impress the President after the obligatory disaster that the last Games had been.

"Ma'am, the President is coming," her assistant Hannah said.

Jenny screamed so loud it broke all the reinforced windows and killed two Avoxes, not to mention her assistant.

"Oops," Jenny said.

"Whatever," the Avox said, picking up her corpse and dragging it into a dumpster. "She has literally no personality. The author didn't think about this part of the story until the last minute."

Suddenly, Sabrina, another assistant, magically popped up in her place.

"Ma'am, the President is coming," Sabrina said. Jenny screamed again, but Sabrina, the only Capitolite who had an IQ in the triple digits out of maybe five people in the entire city, had remembered to bring her earplugs.

Jenny was terrified. The President was the most intimidating man in the entire country. There were a dozen rumours about him, each more terrifying than the last. Some said he had been brought back from before the Dark Days via cryogenics. Some said that he could kill a man just by saying something so mind-numbingly retarded that their brain would literally implode. Some even said that what District 13 had produced before it was wiped out was not graphite or nukes, but the President's hair.

Donald Trump walked into the room, holding up a briefcase.

"M-Mr Trump," Jenny stuttered, looking to her assistant for help. But it was no use. Sabrina, who was vaguely Mexican, had jumped behind a desk, well out of firing range. Firing in this case meaning both losing her job and being literally set on fire.

The President licked his lips. "Well Jenny. What have you got for me?"

Jenny sweated. "Well sir, we've just finished the arena. We're thinking of ridiculous, overblown mutts and an unscientific, melodramatic finale device."

Donald sat back in his chair. "You remind me of my ex-wife in a bikini," he said, "because you disgust me."

"Mr Trump-"

"Please," he said, waving her away. "Call me Big Daddy."

"Big Daddy-"

"Shh," he shushed her. "You're only a woman. I can't expect you to know better." He stood up and brushed dust off his trousers. "The arena is good, Jenny. I just hope the tributes are up to scratch."

He left, leaving a vague smell of hair tonic, money and human faeces.

"HOW ARE THE TRIBUTES?!" Jenny screamed.

"Jeez, woman," Sabrina said, fixing her earplugs back in. She pulled up the screen with the tribute list on it.

"So?" Jenny demanded.

"Um," Sabrina said, "well, the reapings went off without too much trouble-"

"But?"

"There's just one problem…" Sabrina said. "The tributes…

Sabrina took a deep breath. The room seemed to swell with the enormity of it.

"They're completely shit."

* * *

 _ **AN:**_

 _ **So, here's the pitch- An**_ _ **SYOT, but, like… bad**_

 _ **Okay, hear me out:**_

 _ **I want you to submit a tribute. Or ten. But not just any tribute, oh no. I want you to submit the worst, most cliched, most over-the-top, most stereotypical, so-bad-it-makes-you-want-to-barf characters you can possibly think of. I want to see your Katniss-clones, your Johanna-clones, your Finnic-clones. I want to see the most over the top, tragic backstories you can think of. I want to see abusive fathers! I want to see tributes who are ridiculously skilled! I want to see girls with violet eyes and pink hair! I want to see no people of colour WHATSOEVER!**_

 _ **(Jk, you can submit people of colour. But in accordance with the laws of cliche, I will only describe their skin in food terms)**_

 _ **Here's the form! It'll be on my profile as well. Happy submitting!**_

 _ **Name:**_

 _ **Age:**_

 _ **Gender:**_

 _ **District (pick 3):**_

 _ **Sexuality:**_

 _ **Appearance:**_

 _ **Personality:**_

 _ **Backstory:**_

 _ **Family:**_

 _ **Friends:**_

 _ **Reaped/Volunteered:**_

 _ **Reaction/Reason:**_

 _ **Reaping Outfit:**_

 _ **Token:**_

 _ **Weapon Of Choice:**_

 _ **Opinion of Capitol:**_

 _ **Opinion of Games:**_

 _ **Suggested Training Score:**_

 _ **Interview Outfit:**_


	2. Tribute List

**_Hey again! Here is the finalised list of tributes. I hope you can tell from the names just how batshit crazy some of these guys are gonna be... sigh. Any first impressions?_**

* * *

D1F: Sparkle Fiona Marianna Shiny Jones, 15

D1M: Golden Shinekill, 18

D2F: Godessa Athens, 15

D2M: Hunter Hawke, 18

D3F: Technology "Techno" Terrayleyhardtospele, 13

D3M: Jean Yuss, 12

D4F: Kristen Stewart, 18

D4M: Evelyn Fish Press Trout Finnick Annie Katniss Peeta Gale Primrose Doctor Jack Rose Perseus Annabeth Grover Isabella Edward Jacob Sam Dean Castiel Harry Ron Hermione Fireheart Sandstorm Graystripe Maximum Fang Ari Tris Four Christina Natsu Lucy Erza Sherlock John Mary Gideon Morgan Reid Scully Mulder Kirk Spock McCoy Mellark, 19

D5F: Solaria Calculus, 15

D5M: Harry Radcliffe, 12

D6F: Heaven Abigail DeLacey, 12

D6M: Literally Jesus, 18

D7F: Arya Burntwood, 15

D7M: Leaf Barker, 12

D8F: Sophronia Summershine, 17

D8M: Fallen Warien, 12

D9F: Porker Reiner, 12

D9M: Livvia Reiner, 12

D10F: Pony Amelia Lucy Jordan Erica Mona Catnip Anna Portia Perfection Glamour Beautiful Bella Celestial Mary-Sue Generica Syotent Tryvy Trinity Boran Kyl Hera Paynpul Lye Odair Mason, 16

D10M: Jonah Farming Lye Odair Mason, 18

D11F: Shaniqua Latifah Bon'Quisha Queen, 18

D11M: Rowan Yew, 17

D12F: Acacia Evergreen, 16

D12M: Pooto Mollork, 16

* * *

 ** _Apologies to anyone who's tribute didn't get in! Seriously, I loved (well, hated) basically all of them. The first real chapter should be up in a few days. See you then!_**


	3. District 12 Reapings

_AN: Here we go, bitches! Hop on board the cringe-express and let's start rolling, because there's no getting off now, baby!_

 _You may notice that I'll be doing the Districts out of order. There is a method to my madness, however. I'll be going in increasing order of complete craziness. So at the beginning, we'll have the undeniably Sue-ish but not completely awful characters, and at the end we'll have District 4, which includes a boy with no less than forty-nine fucking names and a girl who is literally a time-travelling murderous child-bride called Kristen Stewart._

 _Disclaimer: Dinosaur-of-Fabulousness is not responsible for any vomiting, eye-damage due to excessing rolling, gagging or suicidal thoughts that may arise form reading this fic. If you feel an overwhelming urge to gouge out your own eyes with a rusty spoon please contact your physician immediately. pls dont sue kthanxbai_

 _Uh, also, warning for like curse words and big boy themes. So, like, ask your parents permission before going on the Disney website or something._

 _Other disclaimer: Much like a lambourgini, decent clothes, or any friends whatsoever, the Hunger Games do not belong to me._

* * *

 **Chapter 3: These characters sound familiar somehow...**

 **Acacia Evergreen, 16, D12F**

When I wake up, the other side of the bed is cold. My fingers stretch out, seeking Rose's warmth but finding only the rough canvas cover of the mattress. She must have had bad dreams and climbed in with our mother. Of course, she did. This is the day of the reaping.

Wait. This sounds familiar somehow…

Whatever, I think as I climb out of bed. I perform the sacred ritual that all tributes partake in on the day of the reaping: looking at themselves in the mirror and describing their own appearances.

I look at myself in the mirror and describe my own appearance. I have fiery shimmering bright grey eyes the colour of, I don't know, dirt? And I have olive skin. I'm tall and muscular but not like bodybuilder muscles, gross. Like "white girl on tumblr" muscles. My armpits, legs and eyebrows are perfectly maintained. Duh. Despite the fact that I live in poverty, I've still got killer tits and legs for days. Being malnourished is like, so last week, amiright?

I have long, straight BROWN hair. See, I AM original. Brown hair, bitches. Deal with it.

"What are you saying, Acacia?" comes a voice from behind me.

My ultra-fast reflexes kick in and I fire two shots with my bow and arrow at the sound.

"Rude," my sister Rose says, with two arrows stuck in each eye. Luckily she watched a Youtube video on how to get into med school (the key is to be Asian) and now knows all there is to know about medicine. She quickly bandages herself back up, steals two eyes from a passing llama and shoves them into her face.

I hug my little sister. She's so sweet and pure and innocent and…. and….shit, those are her only personality traits, aren't they?

"Are you ready for the reapings?"

"Shit, I forgot about the reapings!" I cry, since it's the law that every POV character will forget about the reaping until the last possible moment.

"Are you going hunting?" Rose asks.

"Of course, just after I finish narrating my backstory," I smile.

"Great," says Rose, running off to sit in a corner for an hour until I need to interact with her again.

I make my way out into the woods. My hair whips out behind me as I run, tangling itself into a perfect braid. I think about my backstory as I run. My parents died in a mine accident when I was young. Ever since then, I have lived with my generic, ineffectual, unhelpful aunt. In the five seconds while they were bleeding out on the floor, my parents taught me to hunt with a bow and arrow so I could feed myself and my little sister (my aunt can starve since she's not significant to the plot). My life is so sad, it's almost like a movie. One that will get needlessly split into two parts just as it gets interesting.

I meet up with my BFF4evsies Adam on the way there.

When I first met him, I was so shy that I mumbled my name, and he misheard it. So now it's our little friendly inside joke for him to call me-

"Hey, sugartits," he says, hugging me. He smells like apple and woodsmoke and human faeces and snow-dampened leather.

"Hi!" I say.

"Look what I shot," he smiles, holding up a human foot with an arrow in it.

"Mmm," I say gratefully, biting into it. Tastes like fungus. Yum.

Adam and I sit and talk for a while. He talks about rebellion and stuff. I sometimes wonder what it was like before the Dark Days, before the Vague Bad Things happened. Before President Trump took over and turned it into his dreamworld- Panem, which stands for Place of Amazingly No Ethnic Minorities. It's tough sometimes, being sixteen and the only person who recognises the problems with totalitarianism.

"We could do it, you know," Adam says suddenly. "Take off, live in the woods. I've heard there's a place beyond the outside. A magical place filled with freedom and syrup. They call it "Canada"."

I sigh. "What are you on, Adam?" Adam was such an idiot. Didn't he realise I had to protect my dear innocent pure little sister Rose? I was all she had left. Besides our useless ineffectual aunt. I think Adam had siblings too, but they were so irrelevant to the narrative that we never talked about them.

"Are you ready for the morning?" Adam asks, changing the subject. I shudder, remembering last year's games. A sadistic young fungal infection called Sam Pepper had been reaped from District 8. He had stabbed five tributes to death while screaming ITS JUST A PRANK BRO before the District 1 tribute finally killed him.

"Yeah, I guess," I say, picking at a piece of grass. "Okay, gotta go." I say, standing up. "Have fun at the reapings."

"Wear something pretty," he says flatly. "Or nothing. Nothing works too." Then he grabs me by the waist and draws me in to kiss me deeply on the mouth.

Ah Adam. We were such good friends. He was like a true brother to me.

* * *

 **Pooto Mollork, 16, D12M**

"Good morning Pooto," smiles Spineless Enabler, my father, as I walk into the kitchen. My brother Rye is already eating his breakfast, and my other brother, idk, Toast, is slicing a loaf of bread and buttering it. My mother, Bitch, is propped up against a chair, reading a copy of Mein Kampf, munching into her favourite food: fresh baby.

"Toast!" she screeches suddenly. "Get your feet off the table!"

"Yeah Toast," I grin, "stop LOAFing around!"

I look wildly around at my family, smiling, and bring my fingers up to point at them.

"Geddit… cause loafing has the word loaf in it… loaf of bread… and we're bakers…"

My mother slaps me.

"You need to stop," my brother Rye says, shoving into me as he gets up.

"Or do I KNEAD to stop?" I ask. Rye slaps me.

"Seriously," Toast snaps, "stop!"

"I can't stop!" I cry, "I'm on a ROLL!"

There's a symphony of claps as three family members all slap me at once. My mother does it with her copy of Mein Kampf. Ouch.

"We need to get going," Dad says suddenly.

"Yes, I've laid out your reaping clothes on your beds," my mother says.

"Uh, mom-" Toast begins.

"Don't worry, it's not the Nazi uniforms again." The whole family breathes a sigh of relief.

Once we've put on our reaping clothes, we head out the door. Rye is wearing an elegant, hand-washed tuxedo with a sprig of fresh flowers at his lapel. Toast is wearing a silk shirt and trousers lined with mink fur. I'm wearing a trash bag. I wonder who the favourite son is.

Then we walk to the reapings, because the author is getting bored and wants to move on to the next POV.

* * *

 **Acacia Everdeen, 16, D12F**

"I got you your favourite blue dress," my aunt says, laying it out on the bed.

"I don't know," I say, squinting, "it looks kind of white and gold to me." I put it on and make my way to the square pulling my sister along with me.

"Wait- Acacia- I'm not dressed- you- idiot!" she says, as her chin bumps along the floor. I pull her up as we get to the square and hug her tightly. She turns to go.

"Wait," I say, grabbing my little sister. "Here, take this," I hand her a jabberjay from my pocket.

"Jesus Christ Acacia!" Rose screams, trying to hang on to the squawking live jabberjay in her hands. "Why did you give me this!?"

"I don't know!" I cry. "The submission form just said that my token was a jabberjay! I assume this is what they meant!"

Rose stabs the jabberjay in the neck and shoves it in her pocket, rolling her eyes at me. She walks off to the twelve year-old section and I go to the sixteens.

I look up at the stage, where Effie Trinket is furiously making out with Haymitch Abernathy because yep, it's that kind of story. The mayor reads out the generic speech.

"In conclusion, we really should have been more worried about global warming," the mayor finishes. Effie pulls herself out of Haymitch's grasp and hops up on stage, wobbling slightly.

"Right, um… Gryffindor!" Effie announces. "Wait, shit, that's not it. Uh, Dauntless! Fuck, which YA book am I in again? Right, right. Ladies first!" she announces, pulling a name out of the bowl.

"Rose Evergreen!" Effie sighs, rolling her eyes.

 _Oh no_ I think _my poor innocent dear sweet sister. What am I to do?_

"Are there any-"

 _"_ I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE!" I cry.

"Gee, who'd have seen that coming?" Effie says. "Well, get on up here then."

I hop on stage, ignoring the groans and angry reviews that are already being flung my way.

"Okie dokie," Effie says, sticking her hand into the bowl. She plucks a name and reads it aloud.

"Pooto Mollork!"

 _Oh no,_ I think as he mounts the stage, _not him._

 _FLASHBACK TIME Y'ALL_

 _Once upon a time, my dad decided it would be a good idea to light up a blunt in the mines. He took it down to work and sparked up. Smoke was seeping into the air, the smell of weed was everywhere. His co-workers kept yelling at him to stop, cut it out, but he wouldn't listen. He just kept #420blazinit. The spark was a dangerous light in the darkness, and everyone kept screaming at him to stop, just stop, but he never did._

 _Anyway, five years later he died in a mining accident. I was out on the street with nothing but a pice of bread, some tattered clothes, and a small loan of a million dollars. I was all but ready to give up hope. The only meal we had left to eat was meat surprise (the surprise: the meat is Buttercup). Rose kept whining about how she was hungry and scared and hadn't eaten in five days or some bullshit. I decided to take one last chance and go out into the street to sell some of Rose's limbs that she wasn't using anymore._

 _I was crawling through the streets as it rained. The evil Merchants kept turning me away, saying ew and no and oh my god is that an arm I'm calling the cops. Jerks. Eventually I came to the baker's house. The rain was pouring on my face and I was staring out at him- Pooto Mollork. It was like that scene in the Notebook, y'know?"_

 _"Please," I whispered, my voice coming out cracked and hoarse. "I'm so poor. I need some food, money, anything."_

 _"So," Pooto whispered, "you could say you need…DOUGH?"_

 _His mother slapped him so hard I saw a bruise on his cheek the next morning. But it was too late. The pun had filled me with light, with hope. I no longer felt the pain of hunger in my belly. I returned to Rose and told her the joke. She laughed happily and the world was filled with light and joy again also we sold our little brother Tommy to child traffickers._

 _FLASHBACK TIME OVER Y'ALL HOPE YA ENJOYED THE RIDE NO REFUND THANKS BYE_

Pooto walks shakily up to the stage.

"Hello dearie," Effie smiles, putting a comforting hand on his shoulder. Peeta stares down mournfully.

"Gee," Pooto says, looking down at the floor. "I guess things have really gone a-RYE, haven't they?"

Effie slaps him.

"Well now," she says, "any volunteers?"

Pooto looks out hopefully to his two brothers. "Toast? Rye? Want to-"

"NOPE!" Rye shouts, flipping Pooto the bird.

"FUCK OFF!" Toast adds.

'Well, that was awkward," Effie says. "Ah well. Is there anything you'd like to say, Pooto?"

Pooto scratches his head. "This is a real CRUMB-y situation, huh?"

"You are such a weirdo," Effie says, right before she slaps him again. She motions for the audience to clap and we're lead off stage. Pooto stays for some reason, looking pensively out into the distance.

"Are you okay Pooto?" I ask the lone, desolate figure standing bowed at the stage, the morning light shining off his golden hair and casting a long, thin shadow on the ground. He whispers something, his voice caught and whisked away by the summer breeze.

"What did you say?" I ask, grasping his hand. His eyes meet mine, and the tender blue shines with regret and longing.

"I said," he whispers, "don't you mean I'm such a weird-DOUGH?"

The silence is broken only by the sound of Rye, Toast, Bitch, Spineless Enabler, the Mayor, Rose, my useless aunt, Finnick Odair, Johanna Mason, Beetee, Wiress, Cashmere, Gloss, Seneca Crane, Seneca Crane's beard, Harry Potter, Hitler and Han Solo running up to Pooto to slap him.

* * *

 **Pooto Mollork, 16, D12M**

I think of Acacia as I walk down to the waiting room. I've had a crush on her ever since we were in school together (what? She was a sexy sexy five year-old). I would watch her walk home everyday from school, like that's not creepy at all. One time I crept into her house and watched her sleep. She woke up screaming WHAT IS THIS EDWARD CULLEN SHIT. She was so beautiful as she called the cops on me. I knew right then that I wanted to marry her and knock her up with babies with dumbass names like Pruefrue or something.

And now I would be forced into a fight to the death with her. Well, shit.

There comes a knock at the door.

"Heyo," says Toast as he jumps into the room, grinning. "Can I have your bed?"

"No way!" Rye shouts, sidling up to me. "I get the bed! Right Pooto? I'm your BFF, aren't I?" He gives me a smile, putting an arm around my shoulders. Jerks.

"Then why didn't you volunteer for me, hmm?" I ask. "Or should I say RYE didn't you volunteer for me?"

Toast slaps me. "No. You shouldn't."

Bitch and Spineless Enabler walk in. My dad is crying, and my mom looks like a bitch.

"Oh Pooto," Dad cries, wiping away his tears with a loaf of bread. "What are you going to do?"

"Make bread puns probably," I reply.

"Oh well," my mother says, "maybe District 12 will finally have a victor this year."

"Aw, thank mo-"

"She's a fighter, that one," my mother finishes. "Geddit, Pooto? SHE. SHE's a fighter."

"Yeah mom, I get it."

"As in, you're not gonna win."

"I understand-"

"Because you're not a fighter."

"I already said-"

"And you're gonna die."

"OKAY MOM I GET IT JESUS."

"No need to be like that," she sniffs. "We're all hurting here."

"God," I say, rolling my eyes. "No wonder I didn't care when you guys all died in Mockingjay."

"What?"

"Nothing," I say quickly. "Just a bread pun."

"Oh, right," my mother says, just before she slaps me.

* * *

 _AN: So my search history right now is 90 per cent bread… yeah._

 _Up next: District 7! Rude horses, advanced weaponry and inaccurate depictions of twelve year-olds._

 _Also, please review. I crave validation. And bread now for some reason._

 _Also also, do any of you guys have any ideas for a cliche arena? I've got some ideas, but I'm not really sure yet._

 _Hope you guys had a merry Christmas/Hannukkah/Kwanzaa. Consider this long overdue chapter a late present. See ya next time!_


	4. District 7 Reapings

**_Disclaimer: The Hunger Games does not belong to me…yet._**

* * *

 **Chapter 4: Merida and her brothers, only ten times worse**

Arya Burntwood, 15, D7F

"Arya! Help!"

I gasp as I hear the sounds of my twin sister echo through the orphanage.

"Bryony!" I shout.

"Arya! Please, come quickly!"

"I'm coming, Bryony!" I say, leaping out of bed. The William Tell Overture starts playing in the background as I run through the corridors of the orphanage towards the pained sound of my sister's voice. Gee, I could hear her from really far away. How convenient.

"Bryony!" I gasp, running into the room where my sister is. My fiery, bright red hair the colour of fire flies out behind me. You see, I have a fiery personality. Because I have fiery red hair. Got it? Good, because I'm going to mention it every five seconds or so.

Anyway. Back to the plot.

"Arya!" Bryony gasps. She's pressed against a corner surrounded by four Generic Bullies.

"Come here little girl," Generic Bully Model #10796 sneers. Bryony starts sobbing. She looks so weak and helpless, mostly because those are her only personality traits.

"Not so fast!" I say, leaping forward. A bully vomits at the cheesiness. Nice one me.

"Arya, no!" Bryony gasps, like she didn't frickin call me over here five seconds ago. "You can't!"

I thought for a second. The bullies had knives and fists, and all I had were my porcelain hands, determination, and a sub-machine gun.

"Hahaha," Generic Bully Model #10796 sneers. "You'll never get us!"

"Wait," I say, holding up my hands. "What's your name? It's getting really annoying having to type out Generic Bully Model #10796 every time you're mentioned."

"Oh. It's Trevor," said Trevor.

"Right. Thanks!" I say, just before I gun the bullies down in a spray of blood.

"Oh my god! You were so brave. That must have been so difficult." Bryony gasps.

"It was nothing," I say bravely, in a brave way, like I'm Merida from Brave.

I scoop my dear, innocent twin sister up in my arms and carry her down to our room in the orphanage, while she mutters on about how brave and spirited I am, and that one of the bullies actually broke her leg and she needs medical attention. Ah, Bryony. If only she had red hair like me, then she could be as fiery and spirited and wilful as I am. Unfortunately, she has brown hair.

I carry her down the halls of the orphanage. No, we're not just here to play "spot-the-poors". We live here, in this horrible horrible poverty. Our lives truly are miserable. Also Bryony makes it a point to poke bullies with sticks so I can save her from them about once every day so yeah.

I dump Bryony onto the floor so that I can finish narrating my backstory.

We never knew our father, but we know he was a Capitolite who met our mother while on official duties because reasons. He's still alive in the Capitol probably. Bryony and I grew up as technically-not-orphans-but-I'll-call-myself-an-orphan-so-you-feel-empathy-for-me in this horrible decrepit orphanage.

I walk into our room of the orphanage (yes we have our own room. The Capitol really cares about orphan children, DUH!). I flop down on the white leather couch and turn on the 48-inch HD TV, flicking through the channels. Urgh, we don't even have HBO! You'll never understand the struggles we have to go through.

I take a look at the shimmering crystal mirror in the right wing of our orphanage to describe my appearance. I have fiery, bright red hair (yes thank you Arya, we HAVE established that already) and one of my eyes is a bright amber colour, and the other is a dark emerald green. As opposed to like, a dark emerald red or something.

"Caw! Caw!"

Hermes flies in through the conveniently open window. Hermes, in case you didn't know because he was just clumsily introduced a second ago, is my pet falcon. (He's called Hermes after the god that flies, because he flies? Right? GET IT I SO SMART).

"Hello Hermes, my dear beautiful pet falcon whom I love," I say, petting his soft feathers.

"Kill… me…." Hermes chokes.

"What's that my dear beautiful Hermes?" I ask, "You think Bryony and I should go to visit our horses? Well, if you say so." I put my beautiful pet falcon in his cage, locking the door very tightly so he can't ever get out. Ever.

"Come along Bryony!" I call, skipping merrily down the corridor. Our lives are so filled with pain and misery, I honestly don't know how I cope.

Bryony and I make our way down to an abandoned field of convenience. There we find our two beautiful horses. I leap on my horse's back and begin galloping down the field, with the wind streaming in my hair. As I ride, I think of the time when I first found my dear Spirit.

 _[harp music playing]_

 _Bryony and I were walking down the road when we came across two horses._

 _"Neigh," said one of the horses._

 _"Hey. Look. Two horses." I said. "We should adopt them."_

 _"K." Bryony said._

 _"Neigh," said one of the horses._

 _"Wow," I said, jumping on one of them. "He's so beautiful. I shall name him Spirit."_

 _"Fuck you," said Spirit. "I mean, neigh."_

 _[harp music fades out]_

Ever since then, we have kept the two horses as pets. Bryony and I ride our horses almost every day. How did we know how to ride them? Not important. Where are the fields in District 7? Not important. How do we avoid the authorities, get horse feed, or hide them? Less important than what Donald Trump had for breakfast today (the soul of an immigrant puppy, if you were wondering).

You know what IS important? Moar backstory!

I keep my dear Spirit tethered in a field, as I have done ever since I discovered him. He's tried to kill himself five times, the rascal! He is a beautiful horse with shining brown hair and a wild mane who looks exactly like the horse Spirit in the Disney movie Spirit for some reason. Such a sexy sexy horse, that one.

As I ride, my hair flows out behind me in a shimmering fiery curtain, like every Disney princess wind-shot ever. Bryony lags behind a bit, but she still needs her training wheels. Do you even put training wheels on a horse? Might be why she's so slow.

"Bryony!" I cry, "Hurry up! We're going to be late for the reapings!"

"Then why the heck did we go on this ride?" Bryony shouts. "I mean, yeah, let's go!"

* * *

Leaf Barker, 12, D7M

I wake up to the sound of dogs barking.

"Oh mah gosh! Dogs barking!" I whimper, before I remember. My parents and siblings were all brutally murdered when I was a baby for the terrible crime of jaywalking. However, the Peacekeeper spared me because I was just too cute! Afterwards I was raised on the street by a pack of friendly wild dogs.

Mama Dog bounds in, wagging her tail. She licks my face with her tongue (as opposed to, like, licking my face with her eyeball or something). "Mm," she moans in a way that sounds oddly sexual now that I've typed it. "Tastes like chicken."

"Thanks Mama Dog," I say. giving her a hug. I go out to do my begging rounds so I can get money for the essentials, like food, shelter and diapers.

"Hey!" I say to a friendly neighbourhood drug addict. "Can I borwow your sign?"

"Of course!" he says, melting into a puddle from my cuteness.

"Thanks!" I say. I cross out NEED MONEY FOR FOOD and replace it with NEED MONEY FOR XBOX.

Immediately a crowd of women run out, squealing like a white girl when presented with a puppy.

"Here!" they screech. "Take my money!"

"Take my credit card!" one shrieks.

"Take my kid!" another yells.

"Do you accept cheque?!" a woman squeals.

"Take my panties!" a blonde woman yells.

"Oh my god Mildred he's like nine you wierdo," a woman snaps. Mildred licks her lips at me.

"Here you go," a girl says, handing over a huge wad of one dollar bills to adorable ol' me. "Don't spend it all on drugs!"

"Yay!" I giggle. "Now I can go to da stwip cwub!"

"Ooh, the reaping is in a bit," says the girl, checking her watch. "You should go get ready." She pats me on the head and runs off. I'm so lucky everyone in the District loves me so much even though we're all starving. Yesterday, my birthday, the entire District pooled together enough money to make me a giant cake. Five children starved to death!

I make my way back to my corner of the street. As I walk down, everyone smiles and waves at me as my aura of goodwill and cheer floods the entire District. Everyone just loves me! I pop into the den to get ready for the reaping.

The Hunger Games can't really be real, right? It all has to be some kind of prank. I don't really like pranks. The dogs all try to play pranks on me sometimes, like trying to put me in the oven at 360 degrees Fahrenheit with some salt and fries on the side and then trying to bite my face off. Hahaha, such pranksters!

Oh well, I think, better get ready. I put on my very best tattered shirt and my finest sock. My clothes are so raggedy and tattered despite the fact that everyone is making it rain at me like I'm a girl disappointing her father. My hair is perfect though, because Arya doesn't get to have all the fun.

"Bye guys!" I say to my family.

"Woof!" They bark back.

I hop on my Little Tikes 4-in-1 Blue Power Rangers tricycle and scoot off to the reapings.

* * *

Arya Burntwood, 15, D7F

"It's going to be okay," I whisper, clutching Bryony's hand. "You won't get reaped."

"Excuse me ma'am, please hold out your finger," a Peacekeeper says.

"GET AWAY FROM HER YOU BASTERD!" I cry, unsheathing my sword with a cry of fury.

"Arya," Bryony hisses, "it's just a needle, calm down."

"Oh. Right. Well, this is a bit awkward," I say, looking at the Peacekeeper's decapitated head on the floor. Whoopsies!

Bryony and I scoot around the pool of blood and take our places in the fifteen year old section.

"Hey y'all!" the escort, Fifi Tinkerbell squeals, hopping on stage in her eighteen-inch heels. "How you doing?! Are you all ready for this year's CHILDMURDERCONTEST? Huh?"

I roll my eyes as she goes on with her speech.

"Okay, ladies first," she dips a hand in the girl's bowl and pulls out a name. As opposed to pulling out, like, a severed human arm.

"Bryony Burntwood!"

I gasp. Time goes in slow motion. Just kidding, it goes in regular motion. I see tears appear at Bryony's lashes as she opens her mouth to scream.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I call, my fiery hair the colour of a used tampon flying out in the convenient wind behind me. Hermes flies in a circle above my head and the sky fills with crimson flames as I lift the sacred sword Excalibur from the stone as the prophecy foretold, fulfilling-

"Arya," Bryony hisses, tapping me on the shoulder, "you're overdoing it."

"Right," I say, putting Excalibur down awkwardly.

"Ooh, do we have a volunteer?" Fifi asks.

"Yes!" I say. "'Tis I!" I rush up to the stares, gently shoving Bryony behind me.

"Wow! How predictable I mean brave!" the escort says. "Well, let's give a round of negative reviews to our darling little tribute."

"And now for the boys," Fifi says, once the hour of applause has finished. "Leaf Barker!"

"Yipee!" comes a squealing little voice from the front row. A tiny little toddler toddles up from the front row, clapping his pudgy little hands together. He only looks about eight or nine, he can't possibly be twelve.

Suddenly a huge pack of dogs surround the boy. For some reason he isn't freaking terrified about any of this. He's wearing raggedy clothes, but somehow his hair is One Direction-esque perfect. He isn't even crying, just shaking ever so slightly.

"Wow, not even crying!" the escort says, "how out of character I mean brave!"

"Hiya," Leaf says shyly, batting his eyelashes when he gets up on stage.

"Hello," I say, looking down at him. He looks so sweet and cute. I suddenly realise that I'll have to kill him if I ever want to see my sister. I have a quick second of moral dilemma before I get over it, because it's totally in character for sweet, friendly me to want to participate in these Games.

"Is there anything you'd like to say to the audience, Leaf?" Fifi says, holding the microphone in front of his face.

"Arf! Arf!" Leaf barks, holding his hands up.

"That would be cute if I didn't know about pet play," Fifi says. "Uh, so, clap or whatever."

Leaf beams at the crowd as a chorus of "awws' serenade him. He's so cute.

Do I really want to kill him?

Yes.

(wow what a realistic and difficult moral dilemma)

A group of Peacekeepers leads us into the waiting room. I take a seat in the chair and hear a knock at the door.

"Bryony?" I ask, spotting my sister's familiar face through the door with my X-ray vision.

"No it's Santa," she says. "Can I come in?"

"Of course dear Bryony," I say. My sister rushes into my arms, crying.

"Oh Arya," she sobs, "why did you volunteer?"

"Because I wanted to be Donald Trump's seventy-eighth wife, DUH! No Bryony, I did it to save your life! You're welcome, by the way."

"Oh," Bryony sniffs, "you didn't have to-"

"Bryony, you can barely brush your teeth without passing out from the effort. If you went into the arena you'd be dead before you can say "landmines""

"I know," Bryony sobs, "I'm sorry."

"Oh Bryony," I say, patting her head. "It's not your fault. You have _brown_ hair- how could you possibly be as fiery and brave as me?"

"Yeah, I see."

"Times up!" A Peacekeeper says.

"What? It's been like five seconds!"

"Yeah, but the author can't think of a better way to end this, so get out!"

Bryony leaves, and I sit there staring tragically out of the window. No one else comes to see me, because although Bryony and I are so friendly and sweet and Sue-ish I mean likeable, we don't have any friends. I wonder why.

* * *

Leaf Barker, 12, D7M

"Leaf Barker!" the escort shouts, looking at the piece of paper.

Wow, what a coincidence. The boy who was reaped has the exact same name as me!

Wait…

Gasp! It's me!

I think I'm going to cry or show some emotion but I don't because that's illegal. My pack surrounds me, giving me the strength to walk forward. I stand up on the stage next to the pretty girl with the pretty hair. I'm scared but I show as much emotion as those twin girls from the Shining. I pee a little bit though.

Once the escort is finished talking, a group of nice men in white clothes (no, not the KKK- the Peacekeepers, silly!) lead us into a pretty room. All my dogs come to see me, barking and wagging their tails.

"Oh Leaf!" Mama Dog whimpers, "Now we won't ever get to eat you I mean see you again!"

"There's still time," Papa Dog hisses, "if we grab him now-"

"Shh!" Mama Dog snaps.

"That's okay Mama Dog," I say, "I'm sure I'll be fine, and lots of people will want to ally with me. Who wouldn't want to ally with a twelve year-old weakling, right?"

"Right!" Mama Dog agrees. The dog pack licks me goodbye. After that, a swarm of screaming women surround me, throwing money and chew toys at me. They all promise to sponsor me in the Games, because I'm just that cute!

Then everyone leaves, and I'm alone (well duh if everyone's left I'm gonna be alone). I guess if this was a prank someone would have told me by now. But nope, no pasty white fuckboy has come along to stick a camera in my face and tell me about his "social experiment". I guess I really am going to have to go into the Games, huh. I'll have to kill… fight…. pee in the woods….

As the clock ticks by, I can only think one though:

Oh noes.

* * *

 ** _AN: Hope y'all liked reading! Up next is District 9, featuring the tragic siblings._**


	5. District 9 Reapings

_HELP THIS IS SO LATE (as some people have very helpfully reminded me… ahem)_

 _Also: Dear ANANOUMUS: Shut the heck up._

 _For any of you who have qualms about my, um, gratuitous use of swear words (aka I drop F-bombs like y'all motherfuckers are Hiroshima) a family-friendly version of this fic can be found at redtube dot com. Happy reading! :) :) :)_

 _Disclaimer: All your copyrights are belong to Suzanne Collins_

 _Other disclaimer: Rye is very loosely based on yours truly. His counterpart is also based on a certain someone in the fanfiction community ;)_

 _Thanks to TranscendentElvenRanger for Livvia and Porker!_

* * *

 **Chapter 5: I really would have been happier if I had been born an only child**

 **Livvia Reiner, 12, D9F**

I wake up as the morning light shines into my face.

"YAWWWWWWNN!" I cough.

I stretch out my arms and peel my face off the table, where a dozen books lie scattered around. The wax from a candle has melted into a gooey mess on the table that I mistake for Madonna's face for a second. I neatly tidy the books away and put my pencils back into my pencilcase.

What was I doing up late at night with all these books around? Making a fruit salad, CLEARLY. No, not really (see, this is the kind of thing you would get if you were as smart as me). I was up studying late at night. You see- Wait, I better start at the very beginning.

(It's a very good place to start..)

No, no, Maria. It wasn't a very good place to start. At least not for me. You see, my father was white, and my mother was an intelligent reptiloid person. A _black_ intelligent reptiloid person. So everyone in the District hates me and my brother for not being one or the other. It's like chocolate-covered strawberries: are they a dessert? Are they healthy? Do I hate myself after I eat thirty of them in one go? The answer is always yes.

Anyway, my Dad was gored by a bull after trying to make out with one (he mistook it for Cher), me and my brother had to drop out of school to herd screeching, white animals that are surprisingly aggressive when you try to control them. No, not One Direction fans- geese!

But we still love learning, so we have to study day in and day out by candlelight, sometimes until 3 am, _barely_ getting as much sleep as the average college student. What a hard, hard life we lead. _Sigh_. Having to study, I mean. Also the starvation is kind of ick.

"Porker," I murmur, poking my brother. He's lying on the floor, passed out, with a book covering his face. Either he fell asleep studying, or he read Twilight and went into catatonic shock. "Porker!"

Oh yeah, my brother's name is Porker.

…

 _Please_ don't look at him like that. It's been very hard for us.

"Mm?" Porker says, waking up. "Oh, hey Liv."

"Morning, Porky," I say, getting up.

"How was the studying?" he asks me, picking himself off the floor and spitting a few spiders out.

"Oh, fine, fine. Just a bit of light reading," I say, holding up a copy of Mein Kampf that I borrowed from a nice witch a couple of chapters ago.

"Lucky you," he moans, rubbing his eyes. "The book I was studying really killed-"

"AIEEEEEEEEEEE!" I screech. How could he have forgotten about my terror of all things death! One time one of my cactuses died and I screamed for an entire week. Come to think of it, that might be why some of the people in the District hate me…

"Livvia, are you okay!?" he gasps, rushing to my side. He's so protective, even though we're twins.

"Yes," I gasp, catching a hold of myself.

"Children!" comes a trill from below the stairs.

Our Mom, Doe, and our Dad, Joe, pop up. "Come along, children! We'll be late for the reapings!"

"Oh nooo," I whisper. "The reaping…"

"Don't be scared!" Dad smiles, putting his arm around Mom.

"Yeah," Porker snorts, "it's only a week of makeovers. And then, like, decapitation."

'AIEEEEEEE!" I scream again.

"No no!" Mom gasps, trying to comfort me. "It's not bad. It's, uh-"

"Pain! But like, good pain! You like it!" Dad bursts in.

"Yeah! Like Fifty Shades of Grey!"

"THAT'S EVEN WORSE!" I howl.

"Holy Snow-ly, Livvia," Mom sighs, rubbing the bridge of her nose with her fingers. "Calm the frack down. Even Leaf managed to be ~stoic~ in his chapter."

I sniff a bit and wipe my nose on my silk handkerchief but there's no snot because ew.

* * *

 **Porker Reiner, 12, D9M**

Our parents leave the room, arm in arm.

"Hey," I say, hugging my sister close, because I am The Strong And Protective Older Brother because that is the law in these fics. "It's going to be okay."

"Oh Porker," she sniffles, dabbing her eye daintily with her hanky. "Why is everything so difficult?"

 _You're not the one who's parents decided to name them fucking Porker_ I think, but I stay silent as she cries into my shoulder.

"Why is life so HARD?!" she weeps.

"Shit in the hood is lowkey fucked up," I agree sympathetically, patting her hair. "C'mon, let's go get ready for the reapings."

She nods tearfully and gets up. In a minute, we're both dressed. Livvia is in a tattered brown dress ("It's _vintag_ e," she explains) and I'm wearing an artistic roll of toilet paper around my, um, let's say waist. And dick. Usually I just go nekked (we're THAT poor, don't judge) but I hear there's a questionable woman named Mildred snooping around.

"Are you all ready?" our parents call from downstairs.

"Come on, Liv!" I cry, grabbing my sister's hand.

"I'm NOT DRESSED YET!" she screeches as I drag her down the stairs.

Our family stands at the door, holding hands and ready to walk into the District.

"Are you ready," Mom says bravely, holding my hand.

"Yes," I say, and we walk out into our District.

( _Dun. Dun dun dun. Dun dun dun… EYE OF THE TIGER_ )

I brace myself for the slew of racial epithets that will no doubt come my way.

[ _it was at this point that fanfiction user Dinosaur-of-Fabulousness realized that she was not black, and was definitely not allowed to use the n-word_ ]

"Black… person!" an old man shouts, throwing a lump of manure at mom.

"Melanin! More like mela-no!" a woman cries, throwing a baby at us.

"You're so- niggardly! Niggardly being an archaic term meaning "stingy" or "tight'!" a young child cries.

"Come on children," Dad says, tucking us around him. We hunch over, trying to shield ourselves. We make our way through the mob, dodging the not-really-slurs and thrown bits of food.

"Hey Porker! Why do you have to be black and white? What are you, a newspaper?"

"Yeah! Or a domino!"

"Penguin!"

"Nun!"

"Michael Jackson!"

"Please stop!" Mom gasps, as we run through the crowd.

"Half and half!"

"Chocolate and vanilla swirl!"

"Call me!"

"Jeez, Mildred, shut up!"

We make our way into the relative safety of the the reaping square. Mom and Dad kiss our heads and hug us goodbye.

"Bye Mom! Bye Dad! I'll never think of or mention you again!" I cry as they disappear into the crowd.

"Porker…" Livvia says, her bottom lip trembling, "I'm scawred."

"Yeah, well, what else is new," I mutter, "I mean, no! Livvia! It'll be fine!"

"Porker, it says District 9 Male _right above_ your POV. We're _both_ going into the arena."

I pat her silly little head and send her off to the female section of the POV. Silly Livvia! As if anything could happen to perfect ol' me.

I take my place with the twelvies. Our two mentors are sitting onstage: Rye Barric Harvest Bran Farro Milo "I stole these name from that guide everyone uses and giving credit is for squares" Miller and Salty Spring Hamilton. As usual, Salty is nagging Rye about some book he's writing.

"Look Rye," she says, putting her Danny Devito-like face in her hands, "I know your story is fab and amazing and so much better than anything I could ever have created ever."

"Indeed," Rye nods thoughtfully.

"But you're taking too long to update," she moans. Gosh, she's so annoying! She won her Games by whining so much that the other tributes just killed themselves. Also for fun she likes to go and stab puppies probably.

"Well Salty," Rye says. "Your concerns are valid, and I understand. But have you considered shutting up?"

A laugh goes through the crowd.

"Ah!" gasps Salty, catching on fire. "I'm meeeelting!"

Rye chuckles, watching her. The light shines off his golden hair. Rye is super hot also.

"Yoo-hoo!" says the guy from Frozen I mean the escort. He hops on stage. He's wearing, like, I don't know, bright clothes. Capitol, am I right?!

* * *

 **Livvia Reiner, 12, D9F**

I search for Porker in the crowd. I'm so nervous as the escort twitters on upstage. I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, something that every nervous girl in all of fanfiction must do at least once even though no one's ever actually bit their lip hard enough to make it bleed EVER. Seriously.

I bounce nervously on one foot as the escort drones on and on.

"Okay, ladies first!" the escort says (wow that speech must have been a whole fuckin five seconds long).

"Ladies first," the escort repeats. Oh yeah, because Effie says ladies first that one time that means that every reaping starts with the girls.

"Ahem. Livvia Reiner!"

Ooh, Livvia, that's a nice name. Such a shame that a girl with such a nice name has to go into the Games

Wait…

That's my name!

…

Oh, right, there's a protocol here. Ahem.

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" I screech. I throw myself down on the ground and start beating the floor with my fists like I'm on Sweet Sixteen and my dress was the wrong shade of obnoxious.

"Um, ma'am? Please can you come up-"

"SHUT UP SWEDEN MY LIFE IS RUINED! RUINED I TELL YOU!" I scream. I tip my head back and screech to the heavens, and there was wailing and gnashing of teeth.

"It's going to be fine!" the escort cries, "everything is chill!"

"NO NOTHING IS CHILL WE ARE NOT WATCHING FUCKING NETFLIX!" I howl. "AND THAT JOKE'S NOT EVEN FUNNY IT'S BEEN DONE SO MANY TIMES! AIEEEEEEE!"

"Um…" the escort says helplessly, looking back at the mentors- well, mentor and ex-mentor. "Do you guys know what to do?"

"We could shoot her," says Rye helpfully, pulling out an AK-47. On the floor, Salty nods in agreement.

"I'm pretty sure that would get me fired," the escort points out.

"I'm okay with that," Rye shrugs.

"Hehe… fired." Salty giggles.

"GUYS I'M STILL HERE!" I shout.

Then I decided to calm down because the author is running out of synonyms for scream.

I calm my frantic breath down and wipe a stream of burning tears from my cheeks. Okay, Liv, I tell myself, it's going to be okay. I know it looks bad, but what else can happen?

Wait no shit I jinxed it-

'And for the male tribute: Porker Reiner!" the escort announces.

Well shit… now I have to do this all again, don't I?

Ahem.

(headphone users beware)

"AIEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

* * *

 **Porker Reiner, 12, D9M**

"Livvia Reiner!" the escort cries.

Well shit.

No really. _Shit._

"Where are my earplugs?" I hiss.

"Porker, your sister just got reaped!" a boy behind me gasps. "Are you okay?"

"Ask me if I give a shit," I spit, "where are my goddamn earplugs?"

"Porker, it's your _sister_ -"

And then she screams.

"Oh, right," says the boy from where he's lying on the floor with blood coming out of his ears. "I get it now."

I finally find my earplugs, just as Livvia starts doing her "velociraptor with a stubbed toe" impression. The mentors and the escort start talking. Livvia sticks her arms out and starts running circles around the crowd like a fighter-plane. Vroom.

Livvia finally calms down, though the shockwaves are still booming.

Well, there's three options here. I volunteer, or I get reaped in a few years with dead Livvia has my Tragic BackstoryTM. Or-

"Porker Reiner!"

Oh, right, that. Well this is just fab, isn't it?

I steel myself and walk up to the stage, managing to stay ~stoic~ because the Games are like, nbd, right?

"Porker… no…" Livvia gasps.

"Shh," I say, holding her hand. "No seriously, shh. Nobody wants to hear you."

"Well, I'd say shake hands, but it seems as if you already know each other!" the escort says. "So, let's give a big round for your tributes: Livvia "Not for long" Reiner and Porker? I hardly know 'er! Reiner!" The escort bursts into peals of laughter like the author definitely didn't when she thought of this dumb joke.

I awkwardly shake hands with my sister. Her face is red and blotchy from crying. Hm, she should really exfoliate more.

The crowd bursts into clapping.

"Oh right," Rye says, "sure, _you_ clap. _You're_ not the ones who have to spend the next week with her."

On the floor, the puddle of Salty nods in agreement.

"Whatever," Rye shrugs, "I've got the rifle ready."

* * *

 _I feel like I should make a drinking game for this fic. I have one for writing it: I drink, and then I write._

 _You should review J Mostly because I print them out and make them into a blanket to keep me warm throughout the winter. And baby, it's cold outside._

 _Next up, home of the one-dimensional sadists or the sappy tragic lovers (depends which fanfiction you read): it's District 2, baby!_


	6. District 2 Reapings

**AN: There's a blog up now! theclichegameshg . blogspot . com**

 **Also, I need mentors! See the bottom AN for more details.**

 **Disclaimer:** **I do not own the Hunger Games. Buuuut I do own some chloroform, a car boot, and the Suzanne Collin's address, so…**

* * *

 **Chapter 6: Fight me, fuck me, or both.**

 **Goddessa Athens, 15, D2F**

 _I run across the grass, a sword shining in my hand. Rain pours down from the sky, and lightning crashes. My hair flies out behind me, like I'm Ariel in a Disney movie or Pocahontas in a Disney movie or Rapunzel in a Disney movie. The final tribute stands there. Oh look, it's my BITCH SISTER Artemis._

 _I stride forward, brandishing my sword. She strides forward, brandishing her toothpick. I swing my sword and slice through her neck like a knife cutting through butter. Or, more accurately, a sword. And, more accurately, a neck. I slice through her neck like a sword cutting through a neck._

 _"Nooo," she cries, falling over like an IDIOT. "Goddessa, why you gotta be so much cooler than meeee?" she whimpers. "Ah I just pooped my pants because I am so lame! You are so awesome Goddessa! Ah there is blood everywhere! Also I broke that vase when I was seven and not you and mom blamed you for it!"_

 _"This is for your own good Artemis," I say. "And mine. Well, mostly mine. Okay, all mine. STABBY STAB STAB!" I stab her in her STUPID FACE because she's such a STUPID HEAD. Then I bite into her throat with my teeth, because that's never been done before._

 _"Congratulations Goddessa!" the voices boom, "You win the Hunger Games! You are so cool! Much cooler than your BITCH SISTER Artemis!"_

 _"Yes," I say, pulling a pair of Aviator sunglasses out of my pocket, putting them on, then taking them off again. "I know."_

I wake up.

Yes, that was a dream. I don't know why you're surprised. It _was_ in italics.

But it won't be a dream for long! Soon I will win the Hunger Games! My BITCH SISTER Artemis won them three years ago when she was sixteen. But guess what, Artemis! I'm fifteen! MATHS! And now I'll volunteer and win, and I'll be better than you! HAHA!

You may have noticed that my sister and I don't get along particularly well. Our relationship has always been somewhat abrasive, with her more materialist-centered personality and touch of arrogance contrasting with my determination and egoism. Also she is a TOTAL BITCH.

I get up out of my bed. Ah, three minutes of sleep, I feel very refreshed. It's more than I usually get, since I'm always training. Train, train, train. I like trains! I mean training!

I check my watch that I made out of the skull of a girl who beat me in training (it was only Monopoly, but I don't fuck around). Looks like I have time to narrate my appearance before I go training.

I'm fifteen, but I'm old for my age. I'm really skinny but I've also got them curves that make them boys go loco but I'm also super muscly because I'm a #StrongFemaleCharacter. I have long golden brown hair the colour of honey or a questionable stain that is in perfect ringlets. My eyes are ~striking~ because who's fucking aren't? They have a base of sapphire blue with streaks of emerald green and topaz gold that are in the shape of little triangles (Goddessa = Illuminati confirmed) My skin is as white and porcelain as a a Victorian wet dream. I'm long-limbed but also like short because I've got that arm-candy swag. Except no! I'm not arm candy! I'm also #Independent. Like, if your candy started talking to you. (that happened to me once, though it might have been the pain medication). I'm super gorg. Basically, my milkshake brings all the boys to the yard.

Wow, that was long even for a Sue. Anyway.

Quickly, I brush out my beautiful hair with a hundred flowing strokes. Then I put my sports bra and underwear on, put on leggings, grab a jacket, set the jacket on fire for warmth (survival skills!) make myself a sandwich, use the bathroom and apply some light makeup. Time to train!

"Darling!" comes a voice from downstairs, "are you coming down for breakfast?"

Urgh, that's my mom. She's such a TOTAL BITCH. She's all like "do your homework" "be nicer to your sister" "don't stab that guy" "no seriously Goddessa I don't care if you're TRAINING! you can't stab him". Worst mom ever. If she even is my mom. I'm still not entirely convinced I wasn't raised by a pack of wolves.

Artemis is already there, eating a bowl of cereal in a really bitchy way.

"Good morning Goddessa!" she says cheerily. Whatever, bitch.

"Are you volunteering today?" she asks, as if we hadn't already established this.

'YES!" I shout. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me!"

"Yeah, I know," she says, taking another bite of Coco Puffs, or as I like to call them, Bitch Fuel.

"What's the matter, Artemis? JEALOUS?! I'm fifteen you know! That means I'm going to be older than you were when you won! I'm BETTER THAN YOU!"

"Cool," Artemis says. She takes a sip of orange juice. "I think it's good for you to have goals."

You see what I have to deal with? What. A. Bitch.

"Yeah, well..." I say, "Um..."

I quickly shove the bottom of her glass so that orange juice sprays in her face. Haha! I'm so cool.

"Have fun at training!" Artemis says as I walk out of the room.

Just then, I bump into my Dad.

"Hello Goddessa," he says menacingly, grabbing my arm. "Off to train?"

My dad, Victor (huehuehue geddit?), won the Games when he was eighteen. Since then, he's been ruthlessly training me and Artemis to win the Games as well. My aunt Persephone, my dad, and my grandparents Zeus and Hera did too.

"No dad, I've decided to start up a shelter for LGBT kittens," I say sarcastically. "Of course I'm going to train!"

"Good," he says. "Anyone who doesn't win the Games is worthless. You don't want to end up like your brothers, do you?"

I gasp, remembering my brothers. Hermes and Apollo Athens (are y'all getting the naming schema yet?) both went into the Hunger Games in different years. Both of them made it into the final two, but both of them were killed by the tributes from District 7. WHAT a coincidence. Hermes was killed by the boy from Seven, who hit him with an axe, and Apollo was killed by the girl from Seven, who, I don't know, hit him over the head with a tree. So now I hate all tributes from District 7. Even if they're adorable little twelve year-olds.

(Leaf whimpering in the distance)

"Good morning Goddessa!" say my grandparents say, coming out of their rooms. I bare my teeth and hiss at them. Everyone thinks that they're such wonderful victors who knit blankets for orphans, but I know better. Those blankets they knit aren't even trendy!

"Goddessa," Father says sternly.

"Whatever Dad," I say, "I'm going training."

I walk into the training room.

"Time to train!" I say.

* * *

 **Hunter Hawke, 18, D2M**

"Hunter, Hunter, wake up!"

My little sister Clove runs into the room.

"Hey, sport," I say, ruffling her hair.

"Look, I got you a present!" Clove drops a dead bird that she's impaled on her fangs into my hands.

"Aw, good Clove." I say, patting her head. "Tell you what. Once I come back from the Hunger Games, we can all go out for ice-creams and murder? Okay?"

""Yay!" Clove giggles, clapping her hands. I pick her up in my (toned, fab, muscular af) arms and give her a hug. Man, it's so great that my personality traits are kind and humble and nice, but I'm also squeeing with excitement at the thought of going into a game where I get to murder a bunch of children. What do you mean those are incompatible? Shut up, I need have a chance and get the reader to like me as well.

"Good morning Hunter!" My mom, Enobaria, walks into the room carrying a plate of cookies. Yeah, you read that right. Enobaria is my mom.

Backstory time, bitches.

Clove and I grew up in the mean streets of Compton, District 2 (not to be confused with Compton, California). We had to struggle to survive, especially as I kept donating our food and clothes and limbs to the less fortunate. We had to live with our alcoholic father and drug dealer mother (But I thought you said Enobaria was your mother! Yeah be quiet Tiffany I'm getting to that part). One day she threw us out, screaming that we were the devil's spawn. Just because Clove stabbed her! What a bitch. We wandered the streets for a gruelling thirty seconds before getting picked up by a bunch of spiders wearing a human skin suit. But Ted Cruz turned out to be an escaped serial killer! Gasp! He forced us to become his slaves, and brought us along on a high speed chase down the highway. Fortunately, Clove had the clever idea of stabbing him (which seems to be her go-to solution to most problems, but oh well) and we managed to escape.

We then wandered onto the set of Maury. We had some difficulty getting past the guards but luckily Clove managed to fix that problem by stabbing them! We went on the show and took a DNA test with Enobaria. Turns out she was not the father! She was the mother, obviously. Clove and I were her lovechildren. But ever since the stock market crashed and Enobaria's investments in toothpaste plummeted, we've been living in poverty. Since then I've been training for the Games so that I can help give my little sister the murderous education she deserves. Because everyone knows the first rule of training for the Games is that there are literally no other ways to make money, ever, than volunteering for a death match. NONE. So I've been training with Enobaria every day so that I can become as swift as the coursing river, with the force of a great typhoon, with all the strength of a raging fire, mysterious as the dark side of the moon.

And today's the day. I will run up, past the chosen volunteer and on to the stage to become the volunteer! And then I will win the Hunger Games and I can finally live out my secret dream of starting my own custom furniture business. And then Clove will volunteer. I bet that'll work out great for her!

(Thresh laughing in the distance)

And then we'll live as volunteer siblings in Victor's Village, in happiness and love, trying to dodge copyright infringement claims from Cashmere and Gloss.

"Good morning dear," mom says, kissing me on the head. She hands me my breakfast of bacon, eggs and the hearts of small children that she picked fresh that morning. I finish the food quickly and put on my training gear.

"Are you ready for training?" Enobaria says.

"You betcha!" I say, jumping up and grabbing my bow and arrow (my name is _Hunter_ , what did you expect) and heading out to the handy set up of targets that we just have in our backyard. Sure, we may have had to sell some of Clove's beloved childhood toys, but hey, I need to train.

I step out into our humble backyard, equipped with a fully-functioning gym, smoothie bar, Jacuzzi and wrestling ring. As I step into the sun, I sparkle like I'm made of diamonds or just spent last week at a strip club. (Try to guess which one of those is true. Spoiler alert: they both are!)

"Okay," Enobaria says. She wraps a blindfold around my eyes, and then sets the blindfold on fire for good measure.

I load my bow and shoot fifteen arrows into the air. They all land in the bulls-eye! Wow! Amazing! Who would have thought! I wonder…

I try to fire it so that it misses the target. Suddenly the arrow swerves in midair and impales itself on the target. Oh my god… I try again, and again, but the arrows just keep hitting the bull's eye! This Stu-dom may be more of a curse than a gift

Nah, just kidding, it's still a gift.

* * *

 **Goddessa Athens, 15, D2F**

"So kids, this is a knife," the trainer explains, holding up the knife. The group of eighteen year-olds who have apparently been training all their lives for this nod thoughtfully in agreement. Lol, losers.

"Does anyone want to fight me?" I announce. A group of trainers quickly push one of their midst towards me as he protests.

"Nice," I say, going to the other side of the training mat.

"Ready, set, go!"

I rush towards him and grab him by the throat. We start a poorly-written fight scene. He kicks my legs out from under me and I'm pinned beneath him. Shit. Suddenly, I have a bright idea. I pull an AK-47 from my underwear and shoot him in the face. PEW PEW!

I check my watch. "Shit! I'm going to be late!" I say, somehow forgetting about the thing I've apparently been training my entire life for. "I'd better get going if I want to look hotter than my BITCH SISTER Artemis," I say. Oh, who am I kidding. I always look hotter than my sister.

"Why is she narrating her thoughts?" asks one little twelve year-old. In response, I shoot him in the face. Ha, I have the best comebacks.

Ooh look, dividers.

I survey myself critically in the mirror. My long golden brown hair shines like the light of a thousand suns as it falls down my back. I throw on the first thing I can grab out of my closet- a sexy low-cut black sparkly dress (because fifteen year-olds can be sexy too, MOM). I pick out a pair of nude pumps, very practical for running to the stage in. My eyes are ringed in dark shadows, like a raccoon. A sexy, sexy raccoon. Finished off with a touch of bright red lipstick around my perfect mouth that makes Kylie Jenner's look like the holocaust, the look is complete. I look like the Goddess of Death herself, risen from the fiery pits of hell to claim her crown. But like, in a cute way.

Hey, remember when I said I was running out of time? Yeah, we've totally forgotten about that.

Hmm, the look still seems to be missing something. I wonder...

Of course! I grab my machine gun and race to my sister's room.

"Hey bitchface!" I yell triumphantly. Artemis looks up from her computer screen where she's just finished donating to charity.

"Yeah Goddessa?"

"Give me your victor's crown!" I shout.

"Huh?" she says. "Oh, yeah sure. It's on the top shelf over there," she says.

"You bitch Artemis! I deserve that crown more than you do!" I scream.

"Yeah- you can have it-" Artemis says, holding her hands up.

"How dare you deny it to me!" I screech. "It's mine, I tell you. MIIIINE!" Using my amazing fighting skills, I stealthily walk to the other side of her bedroom and quickly take the crown, put it on my head, and walk back.

But wait. What comes now? I furrow my eyebrows, trying to remember my training. Of course! I turn the doorknob and walk out. Victory!

"Come on Goddessa, we're going to the Games now!" my mom calls.

We all walk to the Games together with minimal description because the author wants to wrap this shit up.

I let the Peacekeeper prick my finger, but quickly take vial back while he's distracted with my fist in his face in case he tries to clone me. I take my place in the pens as the escort takes the stage.

As the escort speaks, I stare around menacingly at the other girls. None of them look like they're thinking of volunteering. I don't know if it's my menacing stare, the hitmen I have posted around the square or a combination of the two, but none of them are

I survey the square. As the escort finishes his speech, I see a girl in the eighteens start forward. I whistle and a red dot appears on her forehead. She steps down. Good girl.

"Okay," the escort says, "ladies first-"

"IVOLUNTEERASTRIBUTE!" I scream, rushing forward like those mutts that killed Finnick

("Too soon," the escort says, shaking his head)

and take my place at the stage.

"Goood morning ladies and gentlemen," I say, grabbing the microphone. "'Tis I, Goddessa Athens the first, the one, the only, the greatest, the best, future victor of the 69th Hunger Games!"

"Great," the escort says, "that's just fab for you. Okay, time for the males." He reaches a hand into the bowl. "JOHN CENA!"

"I volunteer as tribute!" comes a voice from the eighteen year-section. A boy emerges wearing a colour-changing tuxedo, and- I gasp- a fedora. And he's actually pulling it off! I recognise him from the Academy. He's Hunter Hawke. He's so hot he could be me if I were a guy. Luckily I manage to pull myself together. He strides up to the stage.

"Your tributes," the escort says, in his most excited "they aren't paying me enough for this shit" voice. "Hunter Hawke and Goddessa Athens!"

* * *

 **Hunter Hawke, 18, D2M**

The escort dips a hand in the sea of papers and pulls the boy's name from the bowl.

("I'm getting a distinct sense of déjà vu," Goddessa mutters)

"I volunteer as tribute!" I cry, running forward like the guy in every romance movie ever trying to catch his girlfriend before she leaves on her flight.

"No!" gasps Shovelface, the chosen volunteer for the Fighting and Shit Academy. He runs forward but trips and falls on his stupid face. The power of Stu strikes again! I dash up to the stage and grab the mike out of the escort's hands.

"Hunter Hawke, eighteen years old, tribute and future victor of the sixty-ninth Hunger Games." I announce proudly.

"Excuse you," Goddessa mutters.

"Hey, give me the mike back! Uh, I'd like to thank my mom for reminding me that no matter what people say about you, like that you're "insane" or "under arrest", don't let them get you down. I'd like to thank my sister Clove for always being there for me, my knives for always being by my side-"

Goddessa rolls her eyes as I continue my epic speech.

"- they're bringing crime," I continue, after the applause, "they're bringing drugs… they're rapists. And some, I assume, are good people…"

The escort checks his watch as the time ticks on.

"So Goddessa, Imma let you finish, but I'm gonna be the victor of the sixty-ninth Hunger Games…"

The crowd yawns and starts to shuffle away as the sun sets behind us.

"And I will fight the other tributes on the beaches, I will fight them on the mountains…"

The stars twinkle in the sky as night falls. Goddessa is asleep on the stage. The escort has already shot himself in the face.

"I have a dream!"

The weather changes from sunny, to windy, to snowy and to sunny again as a year passes behind us.

"And to conclude… the Hunger Games are really about man's relationship to nature. Global warming is happening, it is real, and that's why I'm very proud to be representing District Two in these Hunger Games!"

The crowd breaks into applause. They've all grown beards now, even the babies.

"Okay," the escort's young son, now grown into a man, says. "Congratulations to this year's two tributes!"

We're lead offstage by some Peacekeepers and I walk into the waiting room. The walls are lined with portraits of all the victors we've had. I trace their faces with my hand. There's Stabby McStabFace, Athena Athena, Ronda Rousey and every member of the Expendables. Then it goes onto the whole Athens family- her dad, her sister, her aunt and uncle, her grandma and grandpa and that one particularly talented hamster they had. One day my face will be on these walls. My sexy, sexy face.

Clove runs into the room and collides into me, hugging me.

"Hunter!" she squeals. "I'm so excited for you to win!"

"Yeah, yeah great," I say, patting her psychopathic little head. "Same, same. Look, the author's only done four of these and they're already getting repetitive. So, could you like, leave?"

"Oh Hunter," she cries, "it's okay, you don't need to be scared. We'll be thinking of you the whole time."

The time magically speeds up because Jesus Christ the author is getting bored at this point.

"You need to go," the Peacekeeper says. I kiss Clove and Enobaria goodbye and they leave me. I stare at the wall for the rest of the time. I'm ready

* * *

 **Les Spring Hamilton gets creds for the "old for her age", "mutts that killed Finnick" and "fifteen year olds can be sexy too" jokes. You should check out her SYOTs: Seasons of Pain and All That's Known (both closed but fab) #PippaIsHipper #RoanIsToned #TeamEsterford**

 **Also you should check out:**

 **-Proioxis: the 108** **th** **Hunger Games by chocolate chip homicide (creator of Shaniqua, Sophronia and Literally Jesus). She's a few characters in and updates slower than me (yes, it's possible), but it's honestly just a beautiful story. #TeamaAthena #PalaemonAin'tLameMan**

 **-Is It Worth It by flowersnowgirl. I just submitted a character to that too #AmeliaIFeelYa #GoMonroe**

 **If anyone wants me to rep their SYOT here, I'm happy to!**

 **Also, it was my birthday a couple weeks ago. I'm sixteen, woo-hoo!**

* * *

 **MENTORS INFO**

 **I'd like some mentors for this story and I'm, uh, lazy, so if you'd like to submit some feel free. The form is on my bio. I'll do two for each District, but some of the spots are filled because of canon mentors and tributes's family. Probably a limit of 2 per person.**

 **Anyways, please review. Also a blog review would be lovely.**

 **See you in District 10 y'all.**


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